


Love thy Father

by orphan_account



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Assassin's Creed III Multiplayer characters, Cliche, F/M, Masturbation, Mutually Unrequited, Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension, church kink, desecration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 05:10:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story where a nightly confession goes wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love thy Father

The church bell tolled at midnight, loud and resonating; the sound chasing away those who dared to loiter on the holy grounds. Emily waited until she was completely sure all were gone before she slipped through the heavy wooden double-doors of the devout sanctuary. Flinching when the hinges creaked and groaned noisily, the blonde glanced around the empty chapel before striding quickly for the confessional. She felt embarrassed as she passed by the empty benches and the many pieces of religious paraphilia littered here and there: the numerous statuettes of Jesus; the snippets of bible excerpts interpreted into stunning paintings and hung from the walls in fine brass frames or crafted into the stained-glass windows; the crucifixes; the large effigy of the Virgin Mary that stood by the door. 

It all made her feel unworthy of stepping foot beyond the threshold of the door.

Taking her hat off as was customary when indoors, Emily inhaled sharply through her nose and out through her mouth to steal her nerves before pulling open the door of the confession booth and stepping inside.

It was dark in there—as with the rest of the church—the tallow-candles were a mere puddle of wax, having been thoroughly molten hours before Emily had even thought to come to the confessional. The tiny compartment made Emily feel claustrophobic, her breathing fitful as the door clicked quietly closed behind her. Standing in absolute darkness, the blonde suddenly wanted nothing more than to leave; to have never thought it wise come in the first place. 

Fear gripped her from deep within as she heard the rustling of clothes on the other side of the thin, mahogany wall. Before she could think of making her escape, the window slid open and as candlelight poured in from the opening, Emily was met with the lustrous and handsome face of the Preacher. She gulped, her blue eyes meeting his brown ones for only a moment before she directed her gaze to the wall ahead. 

For a long moment, there was total silence—and naught much else as—Emily tried to pull herself together. The dim illumination cast unholy shadows in the booth that made the blonde’s skin crawl, but she resolved not let her fear nor her shame get the best of her. “F-forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” She finally said, feeling dread and alleviation come over her all at once.

When the Father didn’t answer, she pressed onwards. “I… I have been … thinking most immoral thoughts, Father, and will no doubt bring disgrace onto my family if I fail to suppress them any longer. ” Emily sucked in a breath, bowing her head as she fidgeted her gloved-hands.

“What have you been thinking of, my child?” The Preacher asked. His voice calm as the ocean, eyes shrouded in the dark shadow the brim of his hat casted. He was the picture of what a holy man should be; peaceful and understanding. 

Emily felt a fire flicker in the pit of her being at the thought of being in the Preacher’s company. To have his undivided attention, to have his eyes on her—observing, but not judging. And just as she had feared, the heat of arousal spread quickly through her. Goosebumps and perspiration covered her skin in equal measure as she began to feel an ache deep inside of her. It grew stronger and stronger as she stood in the confessional, just a mere few feet away from the object of her lust. Emily trembled—and this time she knew it was not fear that had caused it. 

Resisting the urge to slide her gloved-hands down the swell of her breasts, down the length of her toned abdomen, and down still to the warmth at the apex her tensed thighs to caress that moist, sacred part of her that was throbbing so divinely, Emily cleared her throat and tried to breathe through the lightheadedness that seized her. “They are most foul—the thoughts, I mean…” Emily warned. Her voice almost barely more than a whisper as the blonde feared that, somehow, the priest would discover her desirousness if she spoke any louder. 

Emily was sure that the Father had heard worst; even still, the blonde feared that the Preacher would be so taken aback by her confession that he would either keel-over at hearing her admission, or start spouting off in Latin as he doused her in holy water and called for her execution. And while that wouldn’t possibly happen, the fact that the blonde couldn’t shake the thought from her mind made her all the more paranoid.

The Preacher hummed understandingly, fingers intertwining where they were on his lap, as he sat back in his chair. “Go on, my child. Whatever it may be, no matter how depraved the thought, you shall not be judged.”

Watching the Preacher from her peripheral, Emily nodded. “Very well…” She said, sounding very much as uncertain as she looked. Clearing her throat, she began: “These thoughts… they have been plaguing me for at least a fortnight. There hasn’t been a night where I don’t dream of him, a day where I don’t want him, a moment where I’m not yearning for the feel of his skin on mine. Even now I cannot shake the feeling. I feel… _filthy,_ Father. Thinking these thoughts—and in a bloody church, no less!” Clenching her hands into fists, Emily shuddered once again, the depravity of her thoughts intensifying as arousal smoldered all the more strongly within her. “I only saw him once—but to look into those brown eyes, unhidden and filled with such devotion, it made me feel connected to him. A stranger out for a stroll down the road. He was handsome, sure—his skin and hair dark and beautiful, like a Spaniard’s would be—but that was not why I desired… desire… him.”

The preacher remained silent. Emily leaned heavily against the wall, his quietness a burden to her conscience. Breathing all the more labored, the blonde pressed a hand to her chest and was taken aback by the erratic beating of her heart. How could she be so affected by the priest? He hadn’t ever touched her, had barely even spoken to her, and still Emily felt the muscles in her lower abdomen go taut in anticipation. Was his stare really that affective? 

Her hand betrayed her. Seemingly gaining unheard of sentience, it drifted beneath her clothing, the leather that covered her fingers cold and foreign, adding to the feel of excitement as the blonde imagined the hand to belong to the Preacher instead of her. She bit her lip, stifling a moan as those maddening fingers touched at the sensitive skin beneath the waistband of her off-white leggings. Just as Emily closed her eyes and began surrendering to her lust, letting her hand do as it pleased so long as it brought the aching in her core to an explosive end, the blonde startled at the sound of the Preacher’s voice.

“These thoughts… what do they typically entail?” He asked.

The shame Emily felt was immense, but instead of halting the questing hand in her trousers before it got up to anything foul, the blonde bit harder into her lip and barely suppressed a moan as her fingertips rubbed against her clit. The thought of touching herself with the Preacher just on the other side of the window made the pleasure she was feeling all the more brilliant. Quivering almost violently, Emily was glad for the wall behind her, for without it she would have surely collapsed. 

Not wanting the priest to become suspicious, Emily tried to find her words amid the onslaught of pleasure that threatening to rob her of motor-controls. “S-sometimes… we make love.” She breathed, praying to God that she didn’t sound too debauched. “A-and it’s wonderful, gentle and slow… so… so beautiful. We become one—n…ot only i-in body but in s-spirit too.” 

As her fingers teased her clitoris and brought wave after wave of pleasure washing over her, Emily brought her other hand to her mouth to hastily pull her gloves off with her teeth. Mindful to stay out of the Preacher’s line of sight, Emily fondled her breasts through her clothes. Her nipples were fully erect underneath and the heavenly friction caused by the coarse fabric of her dress rubbing rough against them made a jolt of white-hot pleasure race up her spine. Emily groaned aloud when she opened her mouth to speak. And while the guttural noise was probably enough to alert the Preacher of her licentious behavior, the blonde could not find it within herself to care. 

As she sank to the floor, her legs parting wide as she slipped her fingers inside her slippery depths, Emily exhaled sharply. “O-other times, it’s rough and passionate—so debauched.” Her voice was barely audible and her words not nearly as intelligible as release barreled towards her. “We, ah… oh—we fuck in such unnatural ways… l-like savages. His cock heavy and pulsing, thrusting deep within me… so hard… as if he wants to split me in two.” Her fingers took on that very rhythm, driving as deep as possible into her tightness. Emily arched her back away from the wall and threw her head back, yielding completely to her fantasy, she moaned. “I c-come every time I think about it...” The pleasure was almost too great. Her body tensed in response. Emily began curling in on herself as the once tentative flame of arousal burned like molten rock. “And I think about it so much… too much. I-I can’t suppress it any longer—” 

“Then come, my child.” The Preacher spoke finally. His voice rough, neither as calm nor passive as it had been. And it was enough to bring Emily to her peak. The blonde moaned at full volume, taken aback at how powerful her climax was as it swept over her, it was like being pulled under the ocean. Emily couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see; she could only shake irrepressibly as a warm and slippery moisture slicked her twitching fingers and blissful sensations pulsed through her. 

It lasted, that gut-wrenching ecstasy, for what felt like a lifetime before Emily let out another broken noise and sagged exhaustedly against the wall. Breathing heavily, the blonde’s eyes fluttered open and her gaze met the silver-colored crucifix that hung from the ceiling. Mortification made Emily remove her fingers from her body and her hand from her trousers. Her glove was glossy; slickened with evidence of her arousal. She pulled it off and stuffed it into the other, tucking them both away in her pocket ashamedly. 

Placing her hat atop the messy nest of her flaxen-colored hair, Emily cleared her throat; discomfiture finding her, and nausea with it. “Father...” She began to say.  
“Say no more, my child.” The Preacher replied, still rather breathless. 

Emily blushed, suddenly thinking that the priest had… touched himself to the sound of her getting off. Gnawing her plump bottom lip, the blonde struggled to meet the priest’s gaze. His eyes were wild, lustful as they stared into—not at, but into—Emily. 

They remained quiet, observing one another through the window for a long stretch of time before the Preacher finally bid Emily farewell. As though the debauched thing she had just finished doing hadn’t just transpired before his own eyes. The blonde was stunned, but relieved all the same when the man told her to pray and say however many Hail Marys it took so assuage her guilt. The window closed then and Emily was plunged in darkness once again. 

Bathed in this silence, Emily was allowed a moment to reflect. However, she was no fool and did not use said time. The blonde needed to leave, not only because she had been trespassing, but because she already felt her skin prickling with the beginnings of newfound arousal and knew that sticking around would only lead to another depraved exploration of her body. 

Hearing the shuffle of fabric as the Preacher took his leave, Emily wanted to say something; to admit to him that he was the object of her desire; to hear his voice again. Instead, she left; words lodged deep within her throat. 

When she stepped outside into the cold, Emily let the nightly breeze cleanse her mind—or at least try. She would never be rid of the lust, the need to feel the Preacher’s skin upon hers’; however, if she could take her mind off of it for even a moment, Emily could stave off madness for a little while longer.


End file.
